The Traveller
by ladybrit
Summary: Wouldn't it be good to have the opportunity to spend a little time with Matt, Doc, Kitty and the rest of the folks in Dodge City? Maybe someone got to do just that.
1. Chapter 1

**The Traveller.**

_The stranger arrives in Dodge by train. No one knows who he is, or why he is here. He seems pleasant enough. The only thing he knows is that he has a job to do before he can go home._

Prologue

Finally he is able to leave work. He tucks the few tools of his trade into an old black gym bag and changes into a pair of comfortable jeans and a long sleeve shirt. It is one of those rare summer days for this city, when the thermometer reaches the ninety-degree mark. He makes the short walk to the station, and gets the train that will take him home to the suburbs. Finding a vacant seat he pulls out some reading material, but soon the rhythmic noise from the rails and the oppressive heat dulls his senses.

A little later the traveller opens his eyes, unsure of what is going on. The air is smoky and there is a constant rattling and swaying. He finds he is sitting on a hard bench. There is an odd assortment of people around him dressed in clothes he had only seen in movies and on old TV. He is still on a train, but from the noise and the soot, he concludes that this one is powered by steam.

A man dressed in some sort of uniform is walking towards him.

"Dodge City next stop, Dodge city!"

Some of the people on the train start gathering belongings from overhead racks and from under seats.

Wanting to escape the dirt and the soot from the engine he grabs the old gym bag and joins the other passengers leaving the train.

Chapter1

As I step down into the hot humid air there is dust everywhere. Horses and wagons are present in such numbers that the place has an air of confusion and chaos. Fortunately my clothes do not attract undue attention – jeans and a grey long sleeve shirt blend in well. I am walking away from the steam and soot coming from the locomotive and find myself on a busy street. There are wooden buildings on both sides – except for one brick building on my right, which proclaims itself to be the US Marshal's Office.

Three people sit there, sprawled in three chairs. They are apparently watching the horses and wagons stir up even more dust as they pass by. The man farthest from the door to the Marshals office is chewing on a toothpick and reading a newspaper. I can just make out the date, August 1875 and one word of the title, 'Kansas'. Now I know for sure.

I watch the three men for a few minutes. They are apparently having some kind of argument, at least two of them are. The third is just watching them with a look of long suffering tolerance. He has a badge of some sort pinned on his shirt and although he is seated I can tell that he is an unusually tall man.

This must be the center of the town. There is a Mercantile, a telegraph office, and some kind off freight office that is situated next to a building that bears a board listing arrival and departure times for towns whose names I remember from childhood movie screens. Wichita, Topeka, St. Louis. I am familiar with the sound of those words.

I don't know how long I will be here. Usually I get a feeling that tells me when I am about to leave, but never more than a few hours notice.

I feel in my pockets and find a handful of notes and a few coins. There is also a smart phone and a rail pass, both of which will be useless in this place. Hopefully the currency is correct. Usually it is.

There is a sign saying Dodge House Hotel. I get a room there and pay for a week in advance. The room isn't bad considering that there is no indoor plumbing. A pitcher and bowl provide the only bathing facilities.

Later that day, following the recommendation of the hotel clerk, I am eating at a café called Delmonico's. The food is terrible, but there is no shortage of customers. The same three men I saw earlier this morning are there, but now they are in the company of a beautiful red headed lady. She is wearing a green dress with a small cameo broach at the neckline. Her hair is perfectly arranged and crowned by a hat designed to complement the dress. By the look in her eyes when she talks to him, she has a strong attachment to the tall man with the badge.

After a few minutes, the tall man excuses himself from his companions and walks over to my table.

"Howdy there, Mister. Name's Matt Dillon." He holds out his hand. "I'm the Marshal here in Dodge, I don't think I've seen you around before." I take the offered handshake, "Thomas Kedworth," I tell him.

"I wondered what you were doing here in Dodge." The words themselves are harmless enough, but it is obvious from his manner that Matt Dillon expects an answer.

"Nothing much, I just thought I would stop off here for a while. You know, just looking around."

The Marshal's eyes hold mine with a steady stare. "C'mon over and join us for coffee, a man needs some company after eating a meal in this place." He signals me to follow him.

Casually he introduces the tables other occupants, Doc Adams, Chester Goode, and Miss Kitty Russell.

"Thomas Kedworth," I tell them. I turn to the lady and tilt my head, "Miss Russell."

She laughs, an extremely pleasant sound. "Just call me Kitty." She smiles and her whole face lights up so that I can't help but notice the color of her eyes.

I take a seat at the table and listen to the conversation for a few minutes. It seems to be about how much money the Marshal owes the Doctor. I get the feeling that although the words sound serious – the mood is light hearted. More like teasing. They all seem to understand the joke.

When they exhaust that tack, the Doctor turns to me, "So Thomas, where are you from?"

That was a difficult question to answer. 'When' would be a more appropriate word.

"Oh .. er. From way back east of here." I am trying to remember how they talked in those old movies. The last thing I want is to be too conspicuous.

Doc looks over at me and squints his eyes a little. I can already tell that the older man knows there is something different about me. The Marshal is eyeing me too. These four people have a strong connection. Unwittingly they work together to try to figure me out. I can feel it, but know there is no way to tell them the truth – they wouldn't believe it anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I sleep well that night. The bed is a little hard, but on the other hand there is no phone to ring every hour or so.

Thinking about my situation, it is obvious that I need a couple of things to enable me to fit into this town. A hat and a horse are essential if I am not going to be different from all the other men. I decide the hat is the easier of the two and if I remember correctly it is a Stetson.

After breakfast I find my way to the mercantile, which seems to be the one store in town that sells everything. The sign over the door proclaims the owner to be a Mr. Jonas.

"What size hat you take Mister?"

A difficult question considering I have never worn one before. Jonas looks at me, shaking his head.

"Strange fella doesn't know his own hat size." He disappears to a back room to return a few minutes later with four of them.

"Here try these." He hands them to me. "There's a mirror over there."

Fortunately one of the ladies from the town came in and keeps Mr. Jonas occupied measuring some cloth for her. That gives me a few minutes to try these hats for size. Two of them fit fairly well, and I pick the lighter color – thinking that its shape looks better on me. I would have to get used to having a hat. People here grew up wearing hats. They never seem to go off and leave them somewhere. I will have to cultivate that habit.

Feeling a little more suitably dressed I work my way along to the livery. This is going to be a challenge. Growing up in a big city the largest animal I had ever had anything to do with was a black Labrador Retriever.

The Marshal and Chester, are standing there talking to an old man – I presume this is the proprietor. The name over the door says Moss Grimmick. Maybe the Marshal can help in my quest. Dillon turns and recognizes me.

"Hi Kedworth, you got a horse here?"

"No Marshal, to be honest, in the city where I grew up, we didn't have much to do with horses, but I think in this part of the country I am going to have to become more acquainted with them."

Matt looks at me a little strangely – but it is the best explanation I can provide.

"Well let's see if Moss here can help you. Hey Moss this is Thomas Kedworth. He's visiting from back east and needs a horse – you got anything suitable for sale?"

While they were waiting for Moss to get a horse he had for sale from out back, Chester has found something that interests him.

"Mr. Dillon" he calls – "would you ever come and look at this?" He comes out from a corner stall holding two little kittens, and hands one of them to his boss. "Now ain't they just the cutest little balls of fluff you ever seen?" The Marshal does not seem quite as impressed as Chester – even less so when the one he is given to hold starts squirming its way loose and falls to the floor leaving a long scratch on the back of his hand. He takes a red bandana from his pocket and wipes the little bit of blood away. "Mr. Dillon you must of held it wrong." Dillon looks at his assistant and shakes his head.

Grimmick returns with a horse in tow. The Marshal and Chester both check the animal over and decide between them that it would be right for me. Not knowing what they have been looking at, I agree. The decision seems to be out of my hands anyway.

"I'll meet you here later and help you get started, if you like." Dillon volunteers as he dabs at the scratch on his hand. "I can come back here after lunch if that is all right with you."

"I'd certainly appreciate that," I tell him.

"I have to go now. See you later," the Marshall calls back to Moss as he turns to leave. Chester follows in his wake.

"You'll like this one mister, it'll suit you just fine. Got a little age on him so he's nice and quiet," Grimmick encourages. "If you board him here it's fifty cents a day with feed."

That's okay I tell him as I hand him the money for the horse and a week's board.

I am just about to leave when Dr. Adam's approaches.

"Moss, get a wagon for me please. I have to go out to the Dalton place, there's been an accident out there and several people are hurt."

"Sure thing Doc, right away."

I look at he elderly physician. He is carrying a medical bag and a second bag full of bandages and other instruments.

"I'd be happy to come help in any way I can," I volunteer. He looks me up and down wondering what on earth I can do, but he accepts the offer and once the wagon is ready, I climb up beside him and we head out.

It is a frightening experience riding on a wagon with Doctor Adams when he is in a hurry. I find myself hanging on to the wooden bench and closing my eyes half the time.

When we arrive at the Dalton place it is obvious what had happened. Ben Dalton, with the help of several of his neighbors, had been putting up a new barn, something must have given way because a whole load of timbers had come crashing down and several of the men had been trapped underneath. Other men that were not involved were using pulleys and horse power to remove the timbers that were trapping their fellow workers. Doc grabs his bag and rushes over to see what can be done. I follow closely behind. There is one man with some broken ribs, another with a leg that is badly crushed, two with head injuries, and one man lying on his back unable to move.

Even in my time this would be a lot for one person to handle, stabilizing the injured, starting IV's and getting people loaded into ambulances. Doc has none of these conveniences. Calmly he moves from patient to patient, assessing needs and deciding who to treat here and who to take back to town.

There is a boy about 15 standing watching. Blood is running down his arm. I go over and take a look, just a deep cut. He needs a few stitches but is otherwise unhurt.

Doc calls me over. "Looks like we'll be here a while," he says. Some of these people don't look too good. Are you alright with that?"

"I can manage," I tell him.

We work together for the next three hours. I am amazed at Adam's skill diagnosing injuries with little more than his hands, his eyes and his knowledge. He organizes the men standing around to get boards and make two stretchers so the man with the crushed leg and the other with the back injury can be moved inside. He gives both liberal doses of whisky, and I notice that somehow just his presence makes the injured feel more comfortable. They have a confidence in him that even I can feel.

Seeing that everyone around me is busy doing something, I set about working on the young boys arm. Doc comes over to watch me as I start to suture the wound. I am at home with the instruments he has. They haven't changed much over the almost century and a half that separates us – but the lack of local anesthetic distresses me. The boy stoically accepts the discomfort – a few swallows of whisky is all he needs. Apparently satisfied with my technique Doc nods and walks away to let me finish.

I spend the rest of the day helping him. We set bones, strap ribs - I did not think it wise to explain to him that in my time we realized that that did more harm than good. We finish up taking the man with the back injury into Dodge.

On the trip back to town he looks at me. "I'd say you had more than a little medical training?" Adams looks at me with a mixture of admiration and suspicion. "There's more to you than you're tellin'. Just where did you get your training?"

"Listen Doc, believe me I can't explain to you."

"You running from something?"

"Definitely not. I just can't explain."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I thought I would be dragged away from Dodge any time now. Usually I only got to stay a week or two at most in a place. I have now been here for about three weeks. My friendship with Doc has grown. Often we spend an evening over a checkerboard or discussing some medical paper he had read. It is difficult to keep my observations relevant to the time period I found myself in.

There are several afternoons when the Marshal finds time to teach me who how to ride. Obviously he is intrigued by my presence here, and doesn't fail to use the sessions to ask subtle questions. As far as the horse is concerned he has to start with the basics, I don't have the first clue about how to saddle a horse, let alone ride the beast. I enjoy these times, however. The Marshal is a good teacher – obviously he is used to horses and their ways and I enjoy the opportunity to get to know the man behind the badge. He is very confident, but at the same time quiet and introspective. Given the need, he could control a situation either by physical force or by talking people down until they come to their senses. I can tell he has deep feelings for the saloon owner, but see little more than a smile or brief touch pass between them. There has to be more but it must be out of the sight of the citizens of Dodge.

This afternoon we ride out to the river. By now I am fairly comfortable sitting up there, guiding my horse along the trail. Briefly I think back to the cowboy movies of my youth. Of course westerns had pretty much died out when I came along, but never the less those heroes still rode across the silver screen from time to time.

We stop by the waters edge and as we secure the horses I understand that he had brought me here to make a final effort at finding out who I really am.

"Come and sit a while," he tells me indicating a fallen tree limb. He pulls himself a grass blade to chew on. "You've been in Dodge about a month now, are you looking for a job or anything?"

"No, I'm not exactly sure how long I'll be staying." An evasive answer but it is the truth.

"If you tell me what you do maybe I can help you find something – I know all the business owners in town."

The questions continue, the Marshal is skilled in the art and it takes all my wits to avoid the truth.

Eventually we turn and head back to town.

From what I heard later, the Marshal and the Doctor had discussed me on more than one occasion.

Doc figured I had received a lot of medical training somewhere but still felt there was something strange about me. The Marshal, for his part had looked through wanted posters and notifications from the department going back a couple of years and come up empty handed. It puzzled him that a man like me could know so little about horses.

Kitty was also curious and asked Matt about me several times – it seemed no one could quite figure me out.

I am playing cribbage with Doc up here in his office. I have grown quite comfortable around the older physician. He doesn't ask me questions anymore – but I know he watches. I remember playing cribbage with my grandfather when I was a boy so I am up to the challenge of a good game. He likes that.

Footsteps on the stairs outside break our quiet concentration and then the door opens. "Come in Matt," says Doc without even looking up. He is still intent on his cards.

"I, er, need to see you a minute Doc."

Suddenly Doc looks up. Something in the marshal's words take his mind away from his hand.  
A quick survey of the Marshal revealed no dripping blood or tattered shirt.

"What can I do for you, Matt?" He halfway turns back to the cards.

"I need something for this headache I can't get rid of," the big man replies with hesitation.

Now he has Doc's full attention

"Come and sit up here." He indicates the exam table in the center of the room, "and tell me what's going on."

Matt obeys – a true sign to the doctor that his friend is not feeling well. He watches as the lawman rubs the back of his head with his hand.

"I think I have a fever too."

I watch as Doc examines the Marshal. I try not to intrude. Maybe I should leave but I notice the two raised infected looking bumps on the back of the big man's hand.

Doc is standing back and rubbing his hand across his mustache – a sure sign he is thinking.

"May I, Doctor," I say, indicating that I would like to check the patient.

Neither has any objection so I borrow my new friend's stethoscope, and check the marshal for myself. Other than the fever and the red pustules on the back of his hand, I find a couple of painful lymph nodes under his arm.

I stand back and look at Adams.

Then I turn to Dillon. "Remember that day about 2 weeks ago when you and Chester were playing with those kittens at Moss Grimmick's and you got scratched?"

"Yes," says Dillon thoughtfully, looking at his hand.

Now how do I explain this without revealing too much?

"There is a kind of infection that cats can carry on their claws – it produces all the symptoms you are having. It's called cat scratch fever."

"I've never even heard of that," Adams comments. Not surprising to me since it wouldn't be written up for another fifteen years or so.

"Oh, I only just read about it before I left – well before I came here. Your journals are a little delayed arriving sometimes. I'm sure you'll read about it soon."

"You'll be fine in a few days Marshal, just rest up and get plenty of sleep. Maybe Doc can give you something for the headache and the fever, but it'll get better by itself."

Doc handed him some powders and the Marshal left. Then Adams turns his attention to me.

"Now listen young man, there is something strange about you. You know things that I have never even heard of – and I keep up with all the papers that come my way. You are good with your hands and have excellent technique, but still there is something about you I am not sure of."

I could tell him so much if only he could believe my story. Forget it – it wouldn't work anyway. Some time while I am here I will have a job to do. It hasn't happened yet but it will be the purpose of my visit.

"Let's just get on and finish this game," I suggest

Just as I predicted the Marshal recovers in a few days – which fact puzzles Adams even more.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Gradually I come to be accepted by the four friends who occupy a regular table at the rear of the Long Branch saloon, and it has now become my custom to join them there in the evenings.

"Doc seems to think you know a lot about medicine. He is impressed by your skills," Kitty tells me one evening while we are waiting on the others.

"Yes,well, we all learn a little something here and there I suppose. Kitty, there is not much I can tell you – I arrived here, and one day I will leave just as quietly. Meantime I am enjoying the company. I promise I am not here to cause trouble."

She looks at me with those piercing blue eyes. She has an instinct that there is more, but I could not explain the situation to her. Always there is a purpose to my visit, but I have to wait to find out what it is, and who it involves. Usually it is someone whose very survival is necessary, for what purpose I never know.

We sit and wait a while until Doc joins us, and then Kitty gets Sam to bring drinks for everyone. We were just lifting our glasses when there were shots fired out side on Front Street.

A dark shadow falls across Kitty's face as she gets up to run to the door. Doc rushes after her. There were two men lying in the street. Both my friends breathe a sigh of relief that neither of them is the Marshal. Doc goes out to check. One of the men is dead. The other has a bullet in his shoulder. A group of men help him up to Doc's office and I follow. Surely this is not the purpose of my being here, I'm thinking.

"Don't just stand there." The old doctor is looking straight at me – "If you wanna help, get my instruments," – he indicates a drawer – "and clean them for me. There's some alcohol in the cabinet over there," – again he indicates, as he hands me an enamel bowel. Obediently I pour the alcohol and put the instruments in to soak. The man on the table is coming around. Doc grabs a whisky bottle and encourages him to drink some. The bullet is in his upper arm and the wound is bleeding quite profusely.

I watch as Doc carefully sets up a small table with everything he will need, then, before washing his hands, gets the man to take another mouthful or two from the whisky bottle.

'Come here and hold him still while I dig this bullet out." He is looking over his spectacles at me. My stomach turns. I realize he is going to do this with no anesthesia apart from the whisky he had just been so generous with.

Taking a breath I do as I am told. The elderly physician takes up a soft probe and threads it into the wound until he finds the piece of metal. The man moves a little but I hold him as instructed. Doc exchanges the probe for a pair of specially adapted forceps to grasp the bullet. He slides the instrument into the wound, following the path of the probe. It is not until he starts to remove the forceps that the man I am holding arches his back and cries out. Doc looks at me sternly, "I told you to hold him still."

It may have been thirty more seconds before he pulls the bullet out of the wound and throws it and the forceps into a bowl.

Again he looks at me.

"You want me to close for you?" I ask, trying to make amends.

He moves over and I finish cleaning and suturing the damaged tissues.

He watches. Apparently he sees nothing else to complain about.

Not long after we have finished, the Marshal's footsteps can be heard as he climbs the stairs. He wants to talk to our patient to find out what happened. The man has no idea why the now deceased fighter had fired on him. He is just thankful that his bullet found its mark and it is the other man who is dead. It seems that that matches the stories of the witnesses the Marshal has already spoken to.

Matt has no other explanation, so pursues it no further. This, apparently, is not an unusual occurrence. A little too much whisky, the heat of the summer, maybe a loss at a card game, little things can get to a man and before he knows what has happened he has drawn his gun. My friend the Marshal tries to watch for such things so he can stop men picking fights and maybe killing someone or getting killed themselves, but of course he is only one man and cannot be in every saloon in town.

Several mornings later I stop by the Long Branch and see Kitty working on those ledgers of hers. She is quieter than usual. I watch her gentle ways as she makes sure poor Louis has some breakfast. I have seen her stand up against a few drunken cowboys right there at the bar and know she has a tougher side as well.

"You're quiet this morning Kitty."

At first she blamed it on the ledgers she was trying to keep up to date, then Doc arrived and I understood from the conversation that it was Matt's absence that affected her this way.

The Sheriff from a small town about 50 miles south of Dodge had ridden in with the man in the morning and by noon Dillon had received instructions to head out that day to get the prisoner to Hays for trial. He knew it will take at least 3 days to get there – it could be four if the man he was escorting gave him too much trouble, but he can always make it back in two. He barely had time to say goodbye to Kitty. I had been helping out behind the bar when the Marshal walked in. He said a brief hello to me and looked around, I presumed for the owner. I indicated she was in the stock room. He heads that way and I hear the door close. Five minutes later he reappears, hat fixed firmly on his head, and without looking back he takes long firm strides to the door.

Kitty appeared a few minutes after he left. She had a fixed smile on her face but I could tell she was worried. At the time I did not realize what had happened.

Some days later Doc asks me if I would like to go fishing.

"I only have a couple of patients to see, then we could take off for the day, how about coming with us Kitty?"

She makes up some excuse not to, I think it is because she is hoping that the Marshal will return any time now.

I agree to go. I think Doc has given up questioning me by now so it will be enjoyable.

Thanks to the efforts of the Marshal I have become quite comfortable around horses, so I tell the elderly physician I will go get his buggy rigged up and bring it along to get him and the fishing poles a little later.

Doc and I have a quiet afternoon, he is proud of the large catfish he finally caught, explaining to me that he had been trying to get that particular one for quite a while. It was going to make some good eating that evening.

On the drive home he tells me he is worried that no one has heard anything from Matt yet. What worries him more is that one of his patients way out in the country, four or five hours by buggy from Dodge, is going to be having her first baby – and he figures that any day now he is going to have to leave town to tend to her.

"I might be gone for several days," he tells me. "My real worry is that Matt will come back to town needing my attention and I wont be here." I still don't see the implication of his words. Finally he looks at me.

"For heavens sakes, I know you have a lot more knowledge than you let on, I'm just telling you not to be scared to use it if you have to."

Even then I did not grasp the full meaning of his words.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I am heading along to Delmonico's. On the way I pass the Long Branch and over the doors I catch a glimpse of Kitty sitting at that table at the back. She almost looks lost sitting there alone. Dillon has been gone for a week now and we have heard nothing from him. He should have been back yesterday at the latest. She looks up from those ledgers and smiles at me as I pass the swing doors. I feel badly for her and go on in.

"How are you doing Kitty?" I ask her.

Oh I'm fine thanks Thomas. Just worried about Matt. I'm sure he will be back soon.

"What could have happened?" I ask. I suppose I still do not understand the ways of this wild country.

" I don't know. We never even heard that he had arrived in Hays. Usually he sends a telegram."

Doc got called the next day to go tend to the birth he had told me about. He said he might be gone for quite a few days. Before he left he pulled me aside.

"You stay with Kitty, he tells me, "this is a tough time for her. Take care of her as best you can. I'm still hoping we get some word from Matt." Then he gives me a key, the key to his office. "If you need it, don't be scared to use it," he tells me.

I get the feeling that Doc believes something bad lies ahead for all of us. I know he is torn between going to deliver the Newcomb baby and staying here in case his skills are needed. I follow Doc's instructions and stick with Kitty like glue – even to the point of working behind the bar at the Long Branch.

Sadly the next day we do get word about Matt– it is from the Sheriff in Hays wondering why the Marshall and prisoner never arrived.

It is Chester who delivers that news. "Don't worry Miss Kitty," he tells her, "I am going to ride out towards Hays and find out what happened. Lots of things could have delayed him."

I think they all know that are not many good explanations for our friends disappearance.

Sam gathers his jacket from behind the bar, "Hang on Chester, I'm going to come with you. If that's all right with you Miss Kitty?" He looks at her with understanding.

"Yes go ahead Sam, we'll manage here just fine."

Suddenly it dawned on me what Kitty was going through. The man she was so in love with had just disappeared off the face of the earth, he could well be dead. Maybe she would never know what happened, never see or hear of him again. People had to be tough both physically and emotionally to survive in this time.

Doc does not return the next day, but sends word that the baby is taking longer to arrive than they thought, there may be complications, he will return as soon as possible.

Since Chester and Sam left I have been putting in some extra hours behind the bar in the Long Branch. This gives me the opportunity to become more acquainted with the townspeople that come in at various times of the day or night for a beer or a whisky.

A few times I manage to take Kitty along to Delmonico's for a meal, but I know her heart is not into making polite conversation. She is strong enough to put on a good act and all I can do is be there.

It is three mornings later when Chester comes breathless into the saloon. I am helping Clem set up for the morning's business. He sees me behind the bar.

"Where's Doc?" he calls across the barroom.

"He's still out delivering that baby at the Newcomb place," I tell him.

Kitty appears at the top of the stairs

"What's happening Chester?" she calls down to him.

Poor Chester, he knows he has to tell the whole story. He is no good at fabrication. He hates to be the one to give her the news.

"We found Mr. Dillon, Miss Kitty. He's hurt pretty bad. Sam stayed with him and I came back to get Doc."

"Doc isn't back yet Chester."

"I know Miss Kitty, I'll just have to take a wagon and bring Mr. Dillon here. Maybe Doc will be back by then."

"I'm coming with you," she says to the jailer. Then she looks at me. I know what I have to do. This is why I am here.

"You go get the wagon Chester, we'll meet you at the livery."

After the man is gone Kitty comes up to me. "Doc said to trust you, that you could do everything he can."

Her eyes are pleading with me. "I can," I tell her with a lot more confidence than I feel.

"I have to go to my room at the Dodge House and get some things. Then I'll meet you at Doc's office, I may need to borrow some of his instruments."

The soft black gym bag is right where I left it, under the washstand in my room. I just grab the whole thing, and head down the stairs and along the street to Doc's office. Unlocking the door, I set about looking for bandages, clamps, painkillers, anything I can find. Poor Chester was not very helpful, he just said there was a lot of blood. I squash everything into my bag, lock the door behind me and head down the stairs. Kitty is there already she has changed clothes into something more suited to the trail than the saloon. I take her arm and we hurry along to Moss Grimmick's. Between the old man and Chester, the team is all hitched up to the wagon and Chester has himself a fresh horse.

"You drive Miss Kitty in the wagon," he tells me eyeing the beat up old gym bag that I throw in the back.

I have never driven a team before, but thanks to all the Marshal's teaching I feel I can handle it.

Chester rides out in front and all I have to do is follow. He's already told us that it will take four or five hours for the wagon to make the trip.

Kitty says very little. I can only imagine what she is feeling.

Chester has been setting a fast pace, so after two hours or so, he calls for a brief rest to let the horses get their wind.

When we set off again, my arms feel tired from handling the lines. This is something I have never done before and my muscles are not used to the strain. I won't complain – I am sure Kitty would take over for me if I did, but she has enough to worry about. Anyway in this era any decent man does the driving.

Finally we arrive at the stand of trees Chester was looking for. I put the break on the wagon and secure the lines before going round to help Kitty down. Sam has beaten me to it. She steps down to the ground and runs over to the marshal. I get my gym bag and follow. I know there are going to be questions, but a man's life is at stake here. At last I know what it is I am here to do.

I kneel down beside my patient. There is a lot of blood on his clothing and some on the ground. Pulling back his shirt, I see the two bullet tracks. One is fairly superficial and I can remove it here and now. Perhaps that may help to slow the blood loss and help the pain. The other is much deeper and will have to wait. Reaching for the old gym bag I pull back on the zipper to open it. I am sure none of these people will see that kind of fastener for decades to come. Reaching in the bag I find my blood pressure cuff and fasten it around the Marshals arm with the Velcro closure. I know all eyes are on me. I just hope they can trust me enough not to ask too many questions. Next my stethoscope, a considerably more modern one than Doc's – but at least they are all familiar with that instrument.

I put the buds in my ears and inflate the cuff, thankful that I do not like those automatic battery operated devices that have become popular in my time. Who knows if batteries would work a century or more before they are invented. I listen to the heartbeat as I let the air out slowly. I watch Kitty's eyes, pleading with me to tell her something.

"It helps me to judge how much blood he's lost." A simple explanation but it will help her. "Yes he's lost a good bit, but maybe not quite as bad as it looks."

I feel around the bullet wounds and the marshal groans. Kitty takes his hand, but her eyes are on me. Does she trust me? I know she would rather see Doc in my place. Chester and Sam are looking on with curiosity and suspicion.

"I can assist you Thomas, says Kitty, I've helped Doc often enough."

I accept her offer and get some forceps and clamps I found from Doc's office and a small enamel bowl. Giving her a bottle of alcohol I ask for the instruments to be cleaned as much as possible. I open up a couple of clean towels I found, and use them as drapes to keep the wound area clean. I realize that it is probably more of a symbolic gesture in these surroundings.

"Hang on Matt, I'm going to get one of these bullets out of you." I am not sure he hears or understands. I notice that Sam steps forward and places his hands on the lawman's shoulders.

I don't have Doc's soft probe, but I can see the bullet only a little way inside the wound. I work my way down to it and grasp firmly. To get it out I have to pull it loose from deeper tissues. The Marshal tries to push me away, he groans, but Sam is strong and holds him still. I hate this, it is certainly not what I am used to, but I have to continue now. I extract the piece of lead and throw it in the bowl with the forceps. There is a lot of bleeding and I pack both wounds with some gauze I brought from Doc's office.

Sitting back I realize that I am sweating, my heart is racing, I just hope Adams will be there when we get back to Dodge.

Kitty goes over to the wagon and pulls a bottle from her purse. She hands it to me. I remove the lid and smell the fine whisky.

"You look like you need it." She tells me and she settles back beside the Marshal.

I take a mouth full and re cap the bottle – handing it back to her.

"How long till dark?" I ask the two men standing watching me.

"We just about have time to make it back if we hurry," Sam replies anticipating my next question.

I get them to help sit Dillon up so I can put a clean bandage round his chest. He draws a painful breath with the movement but does not seem to be totally conscious. The dressing will hold the packing in place and hopefully help control the bleeding.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Eventually we set off back towards Dodge. Now Chester is driving the team. Sam is riding out in front and the three horses are tied to the back of the wagon. I am riding in the back with my patient. Kitty sits next to Chester, but her eyes are back here on the man I am watching. Occasionally he groans or tries to move, but mostly he just lies there.

It takes until dark before we get to Dodge. Chester stops the wagon by the steps to Adams' office and gets a few other men to help get the Marshal up the stairs.

Kitty has unlocked the door and already has lamps lit by the time we get up there.

No sign of Adams. I get the men to lay Dillon on the table so I can check him over. He has a fever, but heart rate and blood pressure are about the same. Somehow he is hanging on.

Kitty looks at me.

"What do you plan to do?" she asks bluntly.

"That other bullet has to come out, it is in there quite deep. I think I will let him rest tonight and do it in the morning. We have the bleeding under control now and I think that it will be good to give him time to rest a little after bumping around in that wagon."

Also, I am thinking to myself, the light will be better then. These oil lamps are nowhere near bright enough for me to work.

"You can go home and get some sleep Kitty, I will stay up and keep an eye on him."

Her eyes meet mine with a determined stare. Hands are on hips.

" I've got a better idea, I'll sit up with him and you go get a little sleep, you've got serious work to do in the morning. He doesn't need some half asleep surgeon operating on him."

There is wisdom in her words. I look at my patient again. He is a little restless, but otherwise nothing has changed.

"One condition, you wake me immediately if there is any change, and at the latest in four hours, I'll need to check him again then."

She agrees, so I head off to the back room and lie on Adams' bed. I leave the door cracked so I can hear, just in case.

There are voices when I waken, Kitty is talking to her Marshal, soft low soothing tones.

"Just rest now Matt, it's going to be all right."

"Where's Doc?" the raspy voice of my patient.

"He'll be back soon."

Some mumbling I can't understand, I feel I am eaves dropping and get up to go see how he is doing.

"Doc said to trust him, Matt. He said he knows a lot more than anyone else he has ever met. He knows what he's doing. Just rest, I'll be here with you."

I make a suitable amount of noise to herald my approach and leave the bedroom.

I get my stethoscope and ease back the blanket covering my patient.

A large calloused hand takes my wrist – not as strong as his usual grip, I am thankful for that.

"Who are you Thomas?" He asks – his voice is weak but there is an intensity behind it that I have heard him use on out of control cowboys in the saloons around Dodge.

"Matt, I can't explain. I am what you see. I am not here to harm anyone. In fact I think you are the reason I'm here. There is always a reason, a job I have to do. Then I'll get to go home. Believe me I have the skills and the knowledge to take care of this."

"Trust him Matt," Kitty adds, I've been watching him work on you and he knows what he's doing."

I hope he accepts that. Things will turn bad if I tell them my story. I know. I did that one time.

He looks at me, his eyes trying to find their way into my head. Then a wave of pain and coughing interrupts the moment. He grasps his ribs and looks at me.

Once the cough has subsided he rasps, "I don't have a lot of choice do I?"

"Not Really."

I look at kitty. It is now about five in the morning. The sun will be coming up soon and I will run out of excuses.

"Kitty, does Doc ever use anesthetics? I mean does he put people out for surgery – use something other than whisky?"

She looks at me like I have lost my mind.

"Of course," she says in defense of her friend. "he sometimes uses ether or chloroform. He is proud of staying up to date."

"Tell me about it." I hope my apparent ignorance doesn't shake her confidence in me. "How does he do it? Back where I come from we use different drugs, I have never used ether."

Kitty is trying to add all this up.

"Please Kitty it is important. I know I can get that bullet out, but I can't do it with just whisky. I have never operated like that. I just can't subject someone to all that pain when it is not necessary."

She is thinking. I go over to check on the Marshal once more. He seems to be sleeping again, that fit of coughing exhausted him. His pulse is faster, and when I check his blood pressure it has fallen a little. He must have started bleeding again, probably the coughing spell did that. I have to get that bullet out soon.

"We don't have a lot of time," I tell her

" Doc is always so careful about ether, he told me if you get it wrong, it can kill."

"That's true Kitty, any drug can do that, but right now we don't have a choice."

I go over to Doc's bookcase, a book or a journal that is what I need. An article about the use of ether or chloroform, he got his knowledge from here and I don't have long to track it down. How come I never learnt these things? These long forgotten pioneers carried their knowledge in their heads – not on their smart phones. We owe them so much for paving the way to today's medicine.

Kitty goes over to the big glass fronted cabinet in the corner, she returns with a bottle labeled Ether and a small wire cage.

"You line this," she indicates the cage, "with gauze, hold it over his nose and mouth and drip the ether on it."

"How do you know how much?"

"Doc listens with his stethoscope – he tells me when to stop."

"You've done it before?"

"Several times when Matt's been hurt bad."

"Will you help me?"

She looks at the man on the table. Does she trust me enough? I continue looking among Doc's journals, if only I'd paid more attention to history. Eventually I come across an article by a man named Long, from Georgia, describing the use and side effects of ether. I sit down to read. Can't believe I am actually holding a journal dating back to the mid 1800's, let alone seeking knowledge from it.

A good twenty minutes pass. I finish and close the journal, hoping I have learned enough from it. I would love to have more time – find a few more articles to read, but time is scarce.

Kitty is back by the Marshal holding his hand and sponging his forehead. I know she wishes, just like I do, that Doc would suddenly be heard coming up those stairs. I know that it is not going to happen. That's why I'm here.

I check my patient again. Now the bandage around his chest that I had applied last night is stained with fresh blood. I pick up the scissors and cut it loose. The man winces and groans at the slightest pressure. Once I have that removed I can see fresh blood welling up and soaking through the packing. Worse there is the redness of infection setting in. There won't be antibiotics for another seventy-five years. This is not good.

I pick out the instruments I think I will need, and set them in a bowl of alcohol. I also prepare the little table and cover it with a white cloth, just like I had watched Adams do.

Deciding I need to change the Marshals position a little so I can get an easier path to the bullet, I get a pillow from the back room and wrap it in a clean towel.

"I'm going to need your help." She turns to look at me. I see the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but at the same time there is a determination that she will not give in to them.

"I'm going to roll him a little to his right side, put this pillow behind him to keep him there."

She nods as I hand it to her. Gently as I can I lift the big man and roll him to his right. He lets out a cry. I look at Kitty and tell her to lay the pillow behind his back so I can let him fall back against it.

"You have to decide if you're going to help me now. There is not much time."

"I'm ready."

She picks up the mask and places it over the marshal's face. I get my stethoscope out and listen to his heart. Having read the journal I know to listen for any change in rhythm.

"Go ahead."

She starts to drip the liquid onto the gauze. He gives another cough, deeper this time. That will stop if we can get enough of the ether gas in him.

"Try to breath deeply Matt, it'll make it easier." I am not sure if he hears me or not.

In less than a minute I feel him go limp. His heartbeat is still regular. A couple more drops and I tell Kitty that is enough.

I take the stethoscope from my ears and go to wash my hands. No mask, gloves or gown. Just do the best you can with soap and water. I dry on a clean towel. Just for good measure I get Kitty to pour a little alcohol into my hands and I rub it over my palms and fingers.

"You doing all right?" I ask my red haired assistant. Her eyes are such a deep blue I could almost get lost in them. She is totally clear headed now. Having made the commitment she will not back out.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Wash your hands thoroughly, then come over and hand me what I need when I ask for it"

Both of us are waiting for that miracle – Doc's head around the door. I know it will not happen – this responsibility is going to be all mine.

I had already cut away most of the bloody shirt. I place a clean towel to cover the bloody pants, and another over his arm and shoulder. Then I proceed to probe for the offending piece of metal. The bullet had deflected off a rib and has worked its way back behind the lung. I withdraw the probe and put a slight bend in it and try again. I can feel it, but my problem is getting it out. The forceps I need to use wont bend, and the lung is in the way. I had hoped that by propping him at an angle like this it would fall forward a little and I could work around it. It has some, but not enough. In my own time I would not hesitate to break a rib or two to get at it, but not here.

"Kitty I need a scalpel please." I reach out my hand and feel her put the cold metal in my palm. I hope that by enlarging the entry wound I can get a better angle on things.

Dropping the scalpel back in the bowl of alcohol, I ask for the forceps again, and Kitty hands them over. I try again, a little closer now, but still just out of my reach. The Marshal starts to moan, the anesthesia is wearing off.

I stop what I am doing to check him over, not so good. Blood pressure has dropped even more. I have to get this done quickly.

"We'll need a little more Ether."

She looks at me, "you sure this is going to work?"

"It has to Kitty, we don't have a lot of time."

If only I had the equipment I am used to, this would be easy. This is a good man doing an essential job. That is why I'm here. I understand it now. A lot of people depend on him. Maybe a vital part of history would change if I do not succeed in keeping him alive. I have to do it right.

"Come on Kitty, trust me just a little bit longer."

We give him a little more ether and I try again.

I take the scalpel and enlarge the incision further. This time it has to work. Finally I feel what I am looking for. Carefully I close the forceps on it. Now just slide it out, careful not to do more damage. Somehow it works. I throw everything in the bowl. I realize I have been holding my breath. I exhale and smile at my assistant.

"I've just got to close up this hole I made. It'll take me a while."

I gather what I need and set to work tying off a couple of blood vessels, suturing muscle and then skin back together.

Kitty makes some coffee and when I am finally finished she brings me a cup.

We sit looking at each other in silence for a while.

"He should be all right now, of course it's going to take a little time."

The subject of our conversation was waking up.

Kitty ran over to him.

"Matt?"

He half turns to her and mutters one word before passing out again, "Kitty."

I start to clean Doc's instruments and put them back where I found them. I look at the bullet. It doesn't mean much to me. Unthinking I put it in my pocket. Everything else is cleaned and put away.

I go over and check on my patient. His fever is a little higher, but no sign of new bleeding.

"You need to go sleep Kitty. I think he will be out for a while."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Just get Chester to bring me some breakfast."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It is late afternoon now. Apart from a few moans and incoherent noises Dillon has not stirred.

I am bending over his arm listening intently, checking his blood pressure. The sounds are difficult to hear because he has lost so much blood. I don't hear the door open. There is a hand on my shoulder and removing the stethoscope from my ears I look up to see the welcome sight of Adams. He of course is looking at what I am doing. I know what he is thinking. He has never seen a blood pressure cuff before. I go to remove it and put it in my bag. He looks hard into my eyes.

" I won't ask," he says. "I just saw Kitty at the Long Branch, she'll be here in a minute. She told me what happened."

Briefly I tell him about the surgery and hand him notes I had made on the procedure I had done.

He picks up my stethoscope and looks at it. He looks at me questioningly. "Go ahead." I tell him. He puts it in his ears and listen's to the Marshals lungs. He turns the instrument over in his hands, studying it carefully. It is made from slightly different materials than his version, a few refinements but basically the same design. He hands it back. Nothing asked.

"I'm glad you're back," I tell him. "I wish you'd been here about twelve hours ago. How did your delivery go?"

He told me the baby turned out to be a breech. He had managed to deliver it using forceps but it had been difficult and he had to stay on a days few because of some complications, but all was fine when he left, and the proud new parents had a baby son.

The man on the table starts to wake again. He is mumbling something I can't understand. It is vital he be quiet and not start coughing again. If he starts bleeding I'm not sure what I can do.

"Please try to lie still Matt, don't talk right now." I take him a little water – he needs to drink some. As I raise his head so he can reach the glass, I watch the grimace spread across his face. He tries to move his arm across his chest to support those ribs.

"Easy now, I know it hurts, try to relax and breath slowly."

I look at Doc. He saw it too, and goes to the medicine cabinet. He gets a bottle of liquid and measures some into a glass. He hands it to me.

The Marshall swallows it down and makes a face at the taste. I give him another mouthful of water.

Soon he relaxes and goes back to sleep. I look at Adams. "Laudanum." He says, no other explanation.

I dig in my pocket and pull out the bullet I removed and hand it to him. He looks at it.

"Unfortunately it won't tell us much. It came from a pistol, not a rifle but that's all the information it can give." He throws it into a bowl.

I decide to leave and go get a few hours sleep, I feel confident that things will be all right now that Adams is here.

Next morning I go back to Doc's office. Matt is more awake now and they have moved him into the back room. Kitty is there with him. Seems he still has some fever but no bleeding that Doc can see.

I know I will be going home soon. For the last time I go saddle the gelding and ride him out onto the prairie. There is a feeling of freedom out there, just a man alone on his horse. This old sorrel has been good to me and I have enjoyed our times together. When I return to the livery I give Moss some money for a few weeks board and explain that I will be leaving soon and I need him to find a good home for the animal.

I go back to the Dodge house and collect all my belongings. I sort through my stuff making sure I have everything I came here with. At the bottom of the bag I find the bullet that I had removed out there somewhere between here and Hays. I put it in my pocket – planning to give it to Adams when I go by the office.

For the last time I climb the stairs to Doc's place. I will miss all these people when I leave Dodge. They have such a bond. Matt, Chester, Kitty and Doc – they form a very special kind of family. Between them, each in their own way, they watch over this town, and ensure its survival.

The Marshall is doing better now. I warn Doc to keep him quiet for at least a week. Those stitches could so easily break loose again. He promises he'll do his best.

"That was why you were here wasn't it?"

I nod, "There's always a reason."

He knows I am leaving. He reaches out his hand. I meet it with mine. "Tell everyone I'll miss them," I say.

He wipes his face with his hand then pulls on his ear as he turns to rejoin the others.

I never like goodbyes, so I just leave them all, there in the back room, and make my way back to the train depot, black gym bag in hand.

The first train out is going to Colorado. It doesn't really matter where it's going. I won't be on it when it gets there.

I find a seat in a quiet corner and for a while look out the window at the prairie. With all it harsh realities it had been my home for six weeks or more. Eventually the stress of the last few days catches up with me, and my eyes close.

Epilogue

Slowly the man in the corner emerges from his sleep as the train he is travelling on pulls smoothly into the suburban station. He had travelled this same line so many times now, that somehow he always wakes up in time to feel the breaks being applied. He stuffs the papers he had planned to read into a black gym bag and prepares to leave the train.

He takes his smartphone from his pocket. The date and the time are just as they should be. He boarded this train in the city about 45 minutes ago. But what of Doc, Matt and Kitty, they were so real, and he can still smell the combination of leather and horse sweat on his hands. It reminds him that just this morning he had been riding alone out there on the prairie of western Kansas – or maybe it was 130 years ago. He smiles to himself, just a vivid dream.

Stepping down onto the platform he reaches in his pocket for the rail pass that he will need to exit the station. His fingers find something else, a small piece of metal about half an inch long. For a minute he has no idea what it is. He pulls it out and looks at it. He knows now; a bullet fired from a pistol, long ago.

The End


End file.
